


Rise of the Farmhand

by ecrituredudesir



Category: Furry (Fandom), Original Work
Genre: Animal Transformation, Bondage, Cock & Ball Torture, M/M, Minotaur - Freeform, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scat, Tauren - Freeform, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27382777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecrituredudesir/pseuds/ecrituredudesir
Summary: Transported to a world far from his own and transformed into a beast of burden tauren by an evil witch, Gerald must find a way to free himself before he becomes one of the terrifying, stinking brown statues that line her fields.A commission for someone on furaffinity.
Kudos: 10





	Rise of the Farmhand

There were few concerns in his life keeping him from going out, drinking himself into a stupor, and waking up in the morning in the luxury of his own bed. A stock trader who had never had to do a day of manual labor in his life, Gerald spent his nights dropping far too much money on nice liquor and wasting his time. He’d lost track of how many drinks he’d put back the night before, but there was some hazy recollection of leaving the bar, wandering through the back alleyways of a shortcut on his way home.  
  
What he did not remember was the strange, dark portal that had swirled up in the pathways of one of the alleys. His mind hadn’t processed it at the time, and he had pushed through it regardless, but after that, everything came with the hazy darkness that usually meant that he’d passed out, too caught in his drunken stupor to realize that he had passed from his realm into one a little more fantastical.  
  
When morning came, it hit with a groggy sluggishness rather than the sharp blare of his alarm clock, which would help to start cutting through whatever hangover he might have from the night before. That usually only happened when his alarm was _off_ and for a startled moment, Gerald wondered if he’d slept through it, yanking his head forward at feeling the mid-morning sun beating down on him. The first thing he thought was that that was strange; his window didn’t face the sun in the morning, but he could feel the baking warmth of direct sunlight across every inch of his skin. _That_ was the second clue that everything wasn’t right—he never slept naked, and groggily, he lifted his head to look around himself, finding himself in the grass outside of a small home. It was strangely cottage like, and Gerald knew that there was nothing in his city like this. There were fields for miles around, and a small barn nearby-- and a very impatient looking woman standing over him.  
  
She was dressed oddly, and the first thought that came to his mind was witch, and she fit the picture with the strange staff she carried. Her sneer down at him was thin, and she nudged him with her foot. “It’s about time you were awake. I’ve been waiting. Such a lazy beast of burden,” she announced, and he opened his mouth, ready to question both her meaning and the insult to her words. Before he could get a word out, though, she straightened her back and fixed him with the scowl once more. “Starting today you will be working on my farm. I only supply myself with the finest of herbs and magical plants from my garden, and you will be plowing the fields until I see any other use for you. Do not disappoint me; the consequences shall be severe.”  
  
Bewildered, he tried to ask what she meant again—only for her to reach down and touch his head with her staff, muttering a quick spell that he couldn’t quite make out. As soon as he was about to demand what kind of drugs she was on, he felt his body rapidly begin to ache. While he had been an averaged sized man before, he could feel his muscles beginning to swell, bulking up into a sturdier frame that was much larger than he could have ever accomplished normally. Gerald gave a low, sudden groan, tilting forward as he grasped at his head at the temples. The strange sensation was making his entire body feel as if it was thrumming with strange energy, vibrating as his cells shifted and changed. From his temples, two small lumps started to form, before they gradually pushed outwards, through the skin as two, massive horns sprouted forward. They were shaped much like a bull’s, and though one of his hands reached up to grasp desperately at one in the shock of having grown them, that wasn’t the only change happening. All across his body he was increasing in size, and his nose was elongating as well. It flared into a full snout at the tip, his nostrils going outwards and wide just as a bull’s or a horse’s might. The intensity of the changes left him unable to stand, curling forward against himself so he could try and grasp at his own body, as if it would save his rapidly changing form from warping any further.  
  
Only when he tilted his head to look down did he realize that his cock had also started to rapidly change in size as well, his balls swelling to become heavier under it as his girth. It was a size that he could have only imagined having as a human, but now it was proportional to his bulky, muscled body. His skin shifted to a more ashy, gray color, and he was hairier in more places now as well, and had he been able to see himself in a pond or mirror, Gerald wouldn’t have been able to recognize himself at all in the face of what the witch had done to him. Still, taking advantage of how stunned he was still to be caught in the throes of transformation, she leaned down and snugly fastened a golden ring to the now flared bridge of his nose, like one would see on a bull, and immediately he felt the impressive weight of magic shackling down his wrists and legs.  
  
“And that’ll keep you in your place,” she announced. Only with her words did he realize that the ring must also have been some kind of magic, keeping him on all fours and preventing him from rearing upwards. There was no movement to allow rebellion, and almost immediately afterwards she circled him, appraising the build and strength of the tauren that he had become. When she was satisfied with her transformation spell, she reached around and grasped him by the nose ring, tugging him along with such force that he didn’t have a hope of trying to resist her lead. It wasn’t too far of a walk with him struggling to keep up on all fours rather than walking upright, but he found himself facing a messy field that looked as if it hadn’t been plowed in a while.  
  
Out of his line of sight, the witch seemed to summon something, and suddenly he found a heavy weight being wrapped around his balls before it was circled around his cock as well. Fastened and secured there, with an additional harness that ran the length of his cock to fasten just under the thick head, he squirmed to no avail. His head ducked downwards to try and get a glimpse under his own frame of what she’d done, only able to see the harness’s lead back towards what seemed to be a plow. The restraint was heavy, though his girthy length could handle it now, despite the fact it weighted his cock down to the point the head of it was dragging along the soft earth.  
  
“Now remember: don’t disappoint me. Your job is now to plow my fields and keep them in prime condition for my plants. If you complain, then you will end up as the others have before you.” Without much more clarification than that, the witch reached back and gave him a forceful slap on the ass, jolting Gerald forward, taking his first steps forward on the field. Despite the immediate strain it put on his cock, something about the threat in the witch’s voice terrified him, and he powered through the initial discomfort. The pressure that it put on his cock was intense, squeezing him tight and dragging his dick downwards each time he had to push ahead to pull the plow behind himself. The stimulation squeezed him at every chance it got, as if uncomfortably milking his dick while also keeping pressure too tight around the head of his cock and his balls for it to offer any sort of relief. Small beads of precum slipped from his tip, practically squeezed out of his testicles, but it dripped uselessly on the ground beneath him, leaving a small, glistening trail wherever his cock head dipped against the ground. It was almost as if his cock plowed the earths ahead of the actual device attached to it, doing nothing in comparison but offering the field a few extra nutrients.  
  
As he moved, he tried to keep his head low, a thick humiliation rising up the back of his neck though it’d be hard to tell if the warmth was from that embarrassment or if it was from the sun overhead, beating down on him. Despite his desire to keep his attention down, not wanting to draw the eyes of any that might look on, he could still see what horrors lingered over the rest of the expanses of the fields.  
  
Dotting the horizons sat dozens of statues caught at various points in the field. They were brown, and looked as if they had also baked under the sun for countless hours, made of some mysterious substance that he couldn’t quite place but could only catch the strange sewage stench of. Gerald could only assume that these were the ‘others’ that the witch had mentioned, and upon failing her, she had turned them all into mere shit replicas of what they had been before. He avoided these when he could, making slow paths around them to continue plowing, but he could see their expressions were locked in equal points agony and terror, the same sensations that swirled in his own heart when he considered the same ever happening to him.  
  
Every push forward left him sore and aching but using muscles that he’d never anticipated having before. His frame was far more powerful than it had ever been as a human’s, and that was the only reason he was able to continue pushing forward with little restraint—with fear and that power coupled together, by mid day, he had three long rows on the field plowed out of the section that the witch wanted done by nightfall. Unfortunately, now there was a much more pressing issue causing problems for him than his fear of the witch; he had been going for several hours, and he needed nothing more than to vacate his bowels. Every push forward brought his knee up to his stomach, squeezing out a gassy fart that slipped into the air. As if passing gas audibly the last several times he had dragged his knees forward across the ground hadn’t been bad enough, he was now having to try and clench his asshole for fear that the push of shit moving through his lower intestine into his colon might slip free.  
  
For a while, he had moved forward on the prayer that the witch would eventually give him some sort of break. His beginning terror of the woman kept him in silence, but as the minutes pressed on and the strain of holding in his shit made a sweat break out across his brow, he barked over the field to where the witch was comfortably planning out her first crops. “I have to use the bathroom!” he called out, looking over to the outhouse that he could see in the distance. The desperation was obvious in his tone, but for a few minutes, she simply ignored him to finish the task at hand. Only when she was done did she look up to him with a half-mocking smirk.  
  
“Well that’s a shame now, isn’t it?” She answered loudly enough for him to hear, and he had to bury his head downwards so he wouldn’t groan aloud in misery at the reply. She wasn’t done there, though, and soon again called out when she realized that he was going to try and hold it further. “Don’t bother keeping it in! All of your shit will be used to fertilize my fields and don’t you even think about wasting a drop of it,” the witch shouted.  
  
He let out a groan of embarrassment, swearing to himself that he wouldn’t humiliate himself that easily as he kept plowing. She had to let him sleep at some point, and maybe if he could use the bathroom when she wasn’t looking when the day came to a close, then he could save some of his dignity. Unfortunately, he had hours to go before she would be willing to let him stop, and after another hour of doing his best to hold it in, he could feel the unyielding pressure of the shit he’d never gotten to take that morning building within him, unignorable and ever present in the back of his mind and ass. Every movement made his asshole pucker, though so far he’d managed to keep it to where only gas would escape, letting his repugnant and loud fart slip out into the field around him. The witch taunted him twice more in this time, until finally, Gerald shuddered and tilted forward, his legs parted as he did his best to avoid defecating all over himself.  
  
Face burning with embarrassment, he began to drop log after log of thick feces, each one landing heavily in the field behind him. A shout from the witch forced him to keep going, plowing the field with the feces that he was dropping along the way. It was better, though—he was shitting with such intensity and volume that it would have been impossible to avoid feeling it build up around and behind him. With a series of wetter farts from the thick substance they were now forcing out of his asshole, flowing freely in a tilled trail behind him on the field. His head down, shame crawling thick up the back of his neck, he did his best to ignore the smell of the field and the other statues, who had no doubt fertilized the fields just as he was doing now.  
  
The hours passed with little little relief from his situation. It seemed no matter where he turned, there was more field to plow, and the sun was low in the sky by the time the witch came to collect him from the fields. Exhausted but grateful for a chance to finally stop, he followed behind her with far more obedience than he had had that morning. There was soft straw across the bottom of the barn that he was lead into, though before he could do much about it, his arms were bound forward to a bar behind a trough, keeping him in his bent over position and leaving him with only the option to eat from the trough or go slack against his bindings and sleep.  
  
His cock was tender from pulling the plow for the duration of the day—and he shuddered in a mix of sensitivity and misery as the witch moved to his side, sliding a sleeve over his cock, holding him snugly but with no friction to allow him movement. As much as he might have wanted to move his arms, the bindings keeping them forward prevented any chance of him reaching down to touch himself to catch any relief. The witch merely smirked at his clear discomfort, and stood straight.  
  
“Eat your fill. You’ll need to produce plenty of extra fertilizer for tomorrow,” she announced, and looking down he found the trough was filled with at least a hefty variety of food-- oats and barley, melon and broccoli and corn. Everything that could be high in fiber seemed to be in no short supply, though he couldn’t bring himself to complain over that variety either—he hadn’t eaten anything all day, and though the position he was stuck in was nothing short of demeaning again, he buried his distended snout down to start to tear into the foot in the trough, careful to not drag his nose ring through it while he started to gorge himself on what he could fit now. It was almost dreadful that he knew he was going to shit even more because of it, but he couldn’t control that hunger in the wake of the day’s lack of meals.  
  
Gerald was shocked by his own ability to eat despite how exhausted he had been, and he was only distracted by his meal by movement in the corner of his eye. The witch had long gone, presumably back to her little cottage, and in that moment Gerald realized he wasn’t alone. In the shadows of the barn another creature stood tall, and the tauren saw that a minotaur stood in the barn with him, though he wasn’t apparently restrained by anything like he was. The newly turned tauren had no other way of knowing that the minotaur was working for the witch, and immediately a spark of hope flickered into his expression—if the minotaur was someone who suffered as much as he did on the fields, there was the hope that he could win him over and convince him.  
  
“Hey, you, can you uh-” he started, making a gesture with his newfound horns to the restraints the witch had pulled his arms down with. The minotaur watched silently, moving over, and for a moment Gerald hoped that he had been clear enough that the other would let him go. He would go for the barn door, break out in the middle of the night and never look back—except the minotaur paid no mind to his bindings. Instead, he closed the distance between him in that oppressive silence, and moved somewhere behind Gerald, where the tauren couldn’t turn his head far enough for him to keep an eye on him.  
  
Without warning, the minotaur’s large hands grasped his hips, pulling Gerald fully up onto his knees from where he’d started slouching downwards to the ground. “Wait-!” Gerald choked out, shocked at the sudden rough handling while the minotaur grasped his ass cheeks, spreading them to his comfort, before Gerald felt the heavy slap of a cock even larger against his own landing between his ass cheeks. The minotaur was mounting behind him, and no matter how the tauren might squirm and struggle, the bindings kept him in place there no matter how badly he tugged at his bonds.  
  
“Don’t, not there, I’m not-!” Before he could spit out any protest that would doubtfully dissuade the minotaur even if he’d managed to get it out, he could feel the impossibly thick head of the beast’s cock pressing at the tight ring of muscle. Minotaurs were not known to be patient creatures, though Gerald had never taken a cock before. The sudden, near violent pressure of losing his anal virginity had his protests die into a shocked cry, his eyes going wide as his new body struggled to adapt to the discomfort. Though he had bulked up, it seemed the muscles of his hind quarters were just as taut as they were as well, and the pressure was met with more than a little resistance. Gerald groaned at the sensation, squirming and struggling to try and find a way to make it easier on himself, since it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.  
  
With a miserable shudder he ducked his head low in the humiliation of being violated as well, and the minotaur began thrusting with no time allocated to make his tauren partner any more comfortable. All he cared about was the tight hole hugging his cock, and how it felt every time when he rolled his hips forward to sink himself in deeper, relishing the way the virginal entrance squeezed his thrusts in response. Realistically, he knew it was probably the tauren’s body trying to reject him. That didn’t matter, considering how good it felt to have his thick, girthy link squeezed from all angles. The minotaur grasped Gerald’s hips, holding him in place before giving a much harder thrust in, wanting to feel every inch of his cock squeezed by the former anal virgin’s tight muscles. The tauren grunted in pain and half-misery under him, his face pressed down against the food now as each thrust rocked him hard forward, leaving him helpless to the assault. “Please, no- I don’t… I don’t want-”  
  
It was even more humiliating when he felt the thick cock ram flush with his prostate, making him gush a spurt of precum that was immediately caught by the sleeve that the witch had left around his cock, the warmth of it staying around his tip, unable to escape. It forced a groan from him, but now he couldn’t say that the noise was _only_ from pain—that felt worse, in a way.  
  
He clung to the bar he was bound against, feeling the minotaur rail into him mercilessly. It felt like every inch of his ass was made for easy access for the creature after a point, leaving him shaking as his cock bounced hard against his own stomach with each thrust. At one point, he couldn’t help but whimper, and finally, he felt himself spilling every drop of cum in his new, heavily swollen balls into the sleeve that he had been covered with—just in time for the minotaur to grunt behind him and ram deeper, filling his ass with rope after thick rope of cum.  
  
The sensation was overwhelming, and though he ached severely from the unwelcome fucking, it had left his senses dull in the forced afterglow of his climax. Gerald sunk in his bindings against the trough, overwhelmed by the events of the day, and found himself drifting off to the darkness of an exhausted sleep. If nothing else, if offered a brief relief from the stress and weariness set into his entire body from the day’s hard work. The blackness of sleep offered reprieve—but it couldn’t last forever. He was dragged out of the peace of sleep by movement next to him, and he roused just in time to catch the witch standing straight, the sleeve she’d slid over his cock in her hand while she weighed it.  
  
“I would have preferred more, but this will have to do for now. I’ll change your diet to let you produce a little more semen as well for this harvest,” the witch hummed. When he looked around, the minotaur was gone—until he saw him comfortably sleeping in the corner when the witch untied his binds—only after she forced him to eat another thick breakfast of high fiber foods. It made sense, seeing how she wanted him to shit and continue to fill her fields full of shit as fertilizer. Still, if she wasn’t going to let him take breaks throughout the day, he knew he had to eat while he could, even if it meant that he had to hold his morning shit until he was out on the field, it would be worth it to be able to keep something in his stomach for the first part of the day.  
  
He was sore as he made it back out to the field that day, the ache of his ass from the minotaur’s hefty cock and his own muscles strained from working the entire day before. But the scene repeated, over and over again—he would spend the entire duration of the day plowing the field with no break; any attempt to stop would be met with threats from the witch, who would remind him just what happened to those who didn’t pull their weight. At night, she would fasten him with the cover to his cock again, and the minotaur would plow him into his food trough until he came and passed out. Day after day, it happened the same, as if on clockwork.  
  
After weeks of the daily, and nightly, torment, Gerald found himself desperate for change. He would take anything as a method of escape, unable to bear the constant labor any longer. And so, he started planning. The same of shitting himself constantly in the fields and going to bed sore and aching after being brutalized by the minotaur was too much to bear any longer.  
  
Though the witch was usually busy throughout the day, there were a few exceptions to this rule. For one, she always came to collect the sleeve of his cum every morning, and for two, she always came to demand why he wasn’t moving fast enough through the fields if he stopped to take even but a few moments of a breather. If he wasn’t fertilizing the field enough, then that would also draw her attention. And so, he started to train himself. At night and in the morning, he began to eat a little less, and bit by bit, he trained himself to start clenching better, despite the minotaur fucking him open at every chance he got. Gradually, Gerald grew to the point where he could control his shitting once more, and he started to hold it.  
  
Little did the witch or the minotaur know, the nightly fucking at least helped him contain it better, as well—constantly getting rammed by the minotaur’s large cock nightly, it kept forcing all of the shit he’d build up during the day to the back of his bowels again, keeping it in place where he could let it stay stored within him. It only took a few days for the witch to notice that he hadn’t fertilized the field once recently, and it was the moment that Gerald had been waiting for. Whether it was because he was being willfully stubborn or because he was now defective, she crossed the fields in his direction, unaware that he had secretly unlatched the plow from his cock, waiting for her to get close enough.  
  
“I warned you!” She snapped, coming up on his flank with her staff raised, intent on turning him into yet another statue on her field of many. Just as she reached his backside, he released his trick attack; his stomach had been bubbling all day and that was true as well for the gas that had been desperately trying to push from his asshole for the duration of the morning. All at once, he let out a noxious fart, loud in its audible blast and the smell that immediately filled the air around him, but he had lifted his ass so high into the air that it had hit the witch directly in her face, stunning her as she staggered from the sheer force of the stench that assaulted her senses. She recoiled, flinching backwards, and that was all Gerald needed to lift his back legs in a buck kick now that he was unburdened by the plow no longer attached to his cock—and kicked her square in the stomach. The witch stumbled backwards and fell, giving Gerald more than enough time to reach out and grasp the staff that she had dropped in the process.  
  
He had no clue how to use it. Try as he might, he hadn’t been able to overhear her cast any spell since he’d arrived other than the one that had transformed him, and even then he wasn’t entirely sure how that one had gone. Hastily, he lifted the staff, and did what he could to remember what she’d said in casing the spell against it, but part of it came out as a jumble of words that he couldn’t quite fully remember; the result was an entirely unknown spell, which hit the witch right as she screamed for him to stop.  
  
Immediately, she thrummed with the same energy of transformation that had turned him into a tauren, but it seemed to be a completely different transformation than his own. Her humanoid appearance shifted to one that was more anthropomorphic in nature, but it was a far cry from his own tauren form. Her body shifted to something more petite and almost vulnerable in nature, and there was a strange, dazed look that crossed her expression. It seemed senseless, almost, and it was easy to see that she was distracted, almost hypnotized.  
  
It kept her from reacting to the worst of the transformation, in which a soft fur sprouted across every inch of her body, leaving her with a snout that started to gently elongate into a pointed tip, with a dark black nose at the tip of it. Her features had taken on a distinct, vulpine form, easily noticeable from the tall, pointed tips of her ears that sprouted forth as well. Though her eyes were brighter now, they still held the vacancy of hypnotism, though he was too busy catching his breath to notice every little detail of her transformation. Wary that she might try to lash out at him again, he gripped the staff tight as he reached up, using it to pull his nose ring out of his nostrils so he could stand again.  
  
It was only now that he was standing that he realized just how much pressure gravity would put on his lower intestine, and he turned to face her dazed, dream-like expression with a bit of wariness. She was awaiting a command, and tentatively, he knew that he was safe as long as she was like that. He also wanted a more satisfying revenge, though.  
  
“How about you be my new toilet?” He growled out, and it seemed to be just the sort of command that she had been absentmindedly waiting on. She reached up, beginning to strip off her clothing until it was just her petite, fox body, at which point she leaned back sitting in the field, and he groaned with satisfaction at the fact he would now _finally_ be able to relieve himself. He grasped onto the fence and squatted back over her, pushing on all of his muscles below his waist at once to clench and relieve himself.  
  
Though he had trained himself well in holding it back, three days worth of pent up shit had left him bloated and full. The first few logs were more solid, splattering against her thighs and lap where she sat, smearing her shiny fur brown. Everything after that, compressed so tightly by the minotaur’s nightly pounding, came softer and in spurts, splattering against her chest and stomach, smearing down her body in brown, stinking streaks. All of the high fiber food he had consumed contributed to the stench that seemed as if it was going to be embedded in her fur now, streaking down her chest to her stomach. Still, she didn’t move, her small dreamlike smile suggesting that she was even enjoying following the command that she had been given.  
  
Gerald groaned aloud as he grasped the fence a little tighter, squeezing so hard that he finally started to get to the source of all of the shit he had built up inside for the last several days. Still sitting on the ground, she was in the perfect position for him to finish dropping his dump over her head, letting clump after messy clump of his stinking shit trail down through her hair and from her ears. The scent was almost too strong for her to breathe normally, and it resulting in her mouth parting, breathing hard through her parted lips while she panted, a glop of feces sliding down her forehead and falling down to her lap.  
  
Giving a low sigh of relief as he stood straight, finally feeling himself relieved to empty himself fully, giving a smirk back at the state of the hypnotized witch. He wasn’t done yet though, turning towards the barn with a sudden, malicious smile. His revenge on the witch was completed, but he hadn’t forgotten all of the torment that the minotaur had put him through as well, nor was he likely to soon. Standing straight, he moved to the barn door, kicking it open with such force that it immediately awoke the minotaur that had taken to dozing well into the day while he waited for his nightly tasks. Startled, the beast looked to the door at seeing the standing tauren—and then immediately past him to see the sitting anthro fox, covered in feces, not far past him in the field. A fury rose to the minotaur’s features as he scrambled up to his feet to charge in the tauren’s direction at seeing what had happened to his boss—but once again, Gerald lifted the staff in the minotaur’s direction, and shouted another string of words that he _hoped_ sounded like a spell.  
  
Apparently, it actually was.  
  
Stumbling past him and into the pathway leading up to the barn, the minotaur gave a sudden groan, falling to his knees then backwards, laying flat on his back. Before Gerald’s eyes, the creature’s body seemed to contort, making him shift so his legs lifted upwards, putting them on either side of his head as it lifted his ass directly into the air. Being bent in half, almost, it also forced the minotaur’s sizable cock to press downwards past his lips, thick and shoving the same length he’d pushed into the tauren’s body night after night directly into his own mouth, where it strained his jaw wide. Try as he might to dislodge it, making a series of shocked sounds around the thick head, the spell wouldn’t allow him to move. The immediate pressure that it put on his lower intestine was immense, though, and suddenly he found himself overcome with the urge to shit as well.  
  
The pressure and the position combined left him with little option. The feces immediately blasted upwards from his ass, giving the tauren barely any time to step aside to avoid it. Like a volcano, wave after wave of intense, thick feces erupted from his tight, clenching hole, making the minotaur flinch as it fell around him like a fountain. Globs of more liquid feces mixed with entire clumps that popped out of him just as forcefully as the rest of it did, though rather than splattering all around him, it seemed to fall on himself perfectly. Even more than Gerald had coated the witch, the minotaur covered himself in a fine sheen of brown that splattered all over every inch of him.  
  
Try as he might, the magic would not allow him to move—and soon, Gerald could see why. Despite his muffled noises and the desperate movement of his eyes back and forth, the scat was solidifying over every inch of him. With some satisfaction, the tauren watched as the minotaur succumbed to the same unfortunate fate as so many of the witch’s other victims, permanently trapped as a scat statue in a particularly humiliating position as statue centerpiece to the entrance of the barn.  
  
With that handled, Gerald turned to the rest of the farm, intent on returning himself to normal, and then to the human world he’d come from. Before he could do this, though, his gaze fell on the witch, still in her strange fox lady form, panting for air and covered with his shit. The statue had given him one vindictive pleasure, but she was another. His grip tightened around the staff in hand, and the more he looked about the farm, the more he realized what his new body had let him accomplish in plowing the field. The tauren was strong—stronger than he had _ever_ been in his human body, and with that came a satisfaction now that he could stop and enjoy the perks of his new form.  
  
Gerald smirked, moving to slowly saunter back to the former witch—now little more than his own, personal toilet—still entranced on the ground, her old weapon on his fist. It had served him well so far, he could only imagine what else it was capable of accomplishing.  
  
“You know,” he started, nearly lazily now that he could have a break from his weeks of hard labor, “I think I’ll stay a little while.”


End file.
